


Never Conquered, Rarely Came

by Nabielka



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-11
Updated: 2011-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-22 12:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nabielka/pseuds/Nabielka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She tried to ignore that every small movement felt like a separate plunder, as if he were trying to milk her dry of seawater and iron until she was just another pliable green land girl like the ones he was so used to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Conquered, Rarely Came

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the asoiaf kink meme at robellion.  
> Title is from Blink 182's 'Adam's Song'  
> This is my first time writing any sort of sex, so I hope it's not absolutely ridiculous. All comments welcome, especially concrit.

They led her into the throne room, one guard in front and one behind, both with orders to kill her should she attempt to escape. But Asha Greyjoy was not fool enough to run unarmed and friendless.

They threw her against the ground in front of the boy king leaning back against the ancient blades of the Iron Throne, which rose behind him like a broken cliff, jarring but ultimately useless.

 _No godless man may sit the Seastone chair_ , the Damphair had said, but the salt lords of the Iron Islands had crowned Euron Crow’s Eye anyway. No one had chosen this kingling, and if the tales were true, no one would have, given the choice the green landers were denied.

“On the floor,” he commanded.

His knights obeyed, pulling her down onto the dusty floor though it soiled their cloaks more than they would have soiled their breeches back on Pike.

Joffrey Baratheon rose. His doublet was the colour of fresh blood, woven through with shimmering golden thread. He was a tall boy, but she was a woman grown and, were she standing, would have been looking over the roots of his hair. Asha wondered if that was why he had had her thrown down onto the floor; being unable to intimidate anyone himself, he relied on his guards to shove his way to feeling important.

Any of her nuncles could have had him begging without breaking a sweat; even Theon would have managed it with a sure blade, though the Starks had melted the iron in his veins into mush.

She missed her axe more than ever, especially when Joffrey approached and pulled her up, tugging firmly. Asha wondered if that was supposed to be a show of mercy, though she was perplexed by its supposed audience; except for the two of them, there were only three others in the throne room: the two knights who had marched her along and the king’s faithful dog standing beside the empty throne on the dais. His new white cloak was too short for him, swinging to halfway down his calves.

She was not allowed to stand for long, however, as Joffrey pulled her over to a side table and pressed her against it, sharp fingernails digging into her arms as she arched up, thrusting her leg upwards to knee him in the groin. He grabbed it instead, and twisted it so that the back of her knee was curled around his thigh, spreading her legs wide open for him as if she were some cheap whore and not the kraken’s daughter, the rightful queen of the Iron Islands.

“Damn you,” Asha hissed, and flung her left arm sideways to bat him off, but the brat only caught it and forced her hand behind her back, locking it to a chair leg with a pair of handcuffs. He did the same when she tried with her right. She would have wondered what reason he’d given when he’d ordered them, but from the little she’d seen of his court, the young king did whatever he wished and everyone else bore the consequences. Twisting her hand sideways, she found that they were loose enough to allow for minimal movement, but not enough to slip her hand free.

“Willing to surrender now?” he laughed, accepting a knife from one of his guards and cutting clumsily through the laces on the bodice of the dress they had made her wear, to slip a hand roughly down to fondle her breasts.

“Ironborn never surrender,” she gritted out as the infernal boy hiked her skirts up; all the damn scratchy ruffles showing, and reached up with a hand to open her cunt up for his use. Briefly, she wondered who had instructed him in this; he hardly seemed considerate by nature.

It went in easily; she was already wet, used to roughness and acting this out, though it had never felt this real before; ultimately she had always had a choice. She didn’t have one now; he was going to do this whatever she did, and despite her proud words, Asha had surrendered when Lannister men had overpowered her crew and she had seen the battle was lost. _He who kneels may rise again, blade in hand_ , her father had told her once, although her Nuncle Victarion had never agreed.

She supposed she was lucky to have been spared rape for so long after her capture, though the passage of days had been hard to track due to irregular meals and the persistent silence of her captors. She was aware that many of her captors shared low-born women between themselves, fucking them over and over until they died from it, and were left sprawled out half-naked to mark the place where the camp had been set up. The kraken’s bloodline had saved her from that, but Asha Greyjoy had never trusted in luck, preferring to rely on her axe or knife.

She did not have either of them now, and the only hope she was left with was that it would be over soon.  
“Get to it,” Asha snapped out. Joffrey looked up, startled frown on his face, and added the remaining fingers instead, pushing them in so deep she gasped.

“I give the orders here,” he said, and kissed her roughly. As a reflex reaction, she bit his tongue and he pulled away, blinking hard. Then he swung his arm and backhanded her. The blow itself did not sting as much as the humiliation: she could hear loud laughter coming from over by the door.

“My mother says a king should never hit his lady,” Joffrey said. “But you’re just a prisoner, and practically begging for it besides.”

She had not cried out, but even Asha could not suppress her moan when his fingers flickered up inside her, feeling pain and familiar rough want coasting through her in a dizzying rush.

She almost mewled when he took them out, leaving her stretched and empty and gritting her teeth, refusing to give him the pleasure of making any sound when he entered her, though even the kraken’s daughter could not disguise her wetness. Nor could she do anything to push Joffrey away, so instead she arched up towards him, taking him deeper still to spoil his triumph.

They said there were two kinds of men in the world: those who acted and those who were acted upon. Even now, Asha Greyjoy did not intend to be the latter.

She watched his smirk turn sour then, like curdled milk left out for too many long nights, and he pushed in deeper and deeper until she could hardly see where her cunt met his cock. That seemed too much like true submission, so she looked away, up and at him, and tried to ignore that every small movement felt like a separate plunder, as if he were trying to fuck her into accepting this fate, to milk her dry of seawater and iron until she was just another pliable green land girl like the ones he was so used to; as if he were trying to punish her for her father’s second rebellion, for refusing to accept a weak, ignorant child as king.

It seemed to go on for half a lifetime, until finally the spoilt little kingling slumped forward with a short grunt and came loudly inside her, then pulled out, leaving her unsatisfied and dripping with his come.

If she was going to get raped, she would rather it be a man with some semblance of skill. Nonetheless, her breath seemed to come faster then, as if all of her careful control had been screwed out of her. Then he stuck three fingers back inside her cunt and arched them up until Asha moaned, and then shoved them into her mouth.

One of his golden rings nicked her mouth as it went in; worthless rings he had not paid the iron price for.  
She bit his fingers, but Joffrey only pushed them in harder and deeper until she licked them; the salty tang familiarly soothing, calling out to the blood running through her veins.

Throughout it all, the king’s faithful dog watched it all from underneath his old helm and his new, pristine white cloak; the iron bitch brought low and taken by a mere boy.

“There, whore,” Joffrey said later, finally pulling them out. “Isn’t it all so much better when everyone’s playing along?”

Asha bit the inside of her lip to keep from spiting up at him, _no man has ever died from bending his knee_ ringing through her mind, and thought _few women have ever died from one rape, and none of them Ironborn_. As long as she remembered that, remembered who she was, she would be fine.

The boy king carried on, “Lord Bolton flays a captive if one of their kin acts against his family. I will do the same: for every attempted attack, and for every ten loyal men who die due to your kin, I will have you again, each time more publicly, so that all can see the iron bitch broken under the might of the Iron Throne. But I can be merciful, and so I swear I will severely punish any man who dares to touch you without my express permission.” His voice was as yet unbroken; he sounded like a schoolboy reciting a long line of studiously memorised text.

Joffrey waved a hand, and the two guards who had escorted her in came over and undid her cuffs. She gave her sore wrists a brief rub each, and walked out of the throne room with her head held high all the way back to her cell. Only then did she collapse against the wall and slide down to her thin bedding.  
But even then, Asha Greyjoy did not allow herself to cry.


End file.
